


Next Time

by silver_fish



Series: tip jar requests [4]
Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Embarrassment, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Making Out, potentially very OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27608255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_fish/pseuds/silver_fish
Summary: It's not as if they've never kissed before. These feelings aren't new either. It's just the first time it's happened likethis, and Itaru doesn't really know what he's supposed to do here.
Relationships: Chigasaki Itaru/Ikaruga Misumi
Series: tip jar requests [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2180832
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	Next Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BananaSixteen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaSixteen/gifts).



> [twitter](https://twitter.com/laphicets) / [tumblr](https://kohakhearts.tumblr.com)
> 
> helloo here it is! sorry again for the wait and thank you SO much for being patient. again, life got hectic, but i did as much research into these characters as i could, so i really hope that it! very mild nsfw factors going on here, but nothing explicit in the slightest. the rating is like the lowest end of m possible haha.
> 
> this is a commissioned piece! i have never played a3! in my life (this was quite the learning experience, though! i'm intrigued, not gonna lie). please enjoy though! :D

Itaru is on shaky ground here.

Graciously, he is—or _was_ —alone this evening. There is something somehow momentous about it, like a high-stakes boss battle, the sort of thing that might normally have him fired-up and focussed, except that it is really just a box of delivery pizza, his overexaggerated anxieties, and his boyfriend.

The latter of which brings along with him the other two things.

He’s had his time to keep his mind off it all, though. Now, he’s just going to enjoy the time they have alone together, because, really, there is nothing _to_ be anxious about. It’s just Misumi, after all. They’ve been alone like this before and it’s never exactly been a problem, has it?

This is what Itaru tells himself, over and over again, when Misumi arrives. He’s the same as ever, cheerful smile and a soft ghost of a kiss upon Itaru’s lips before he sets the pizza down on the table and gestures for him to come closer.

It _is_ pretty stupid, honestly. He doubts Misumi is thinking quite so hard about it, but things have been getting more serious each time they’re together like this. Surely he must notice it too? Neither of them are exceptionally experienced—and it shows, Itaru thinks—but that doesn’t make it any easier, not really. The last time they had a moment like this, it was Itaru who ended it, not because he doesn’t want that sort of thing, but he doesn’t want to push Misumi. He’s younger, and it’s not that he’s fragile or anything; Itaru would just rather not be the one _pushing_. That seems fair to him, all things considered.

“Itaru,” Misumi singsongs, and Itaru shakes himself free of his thoughts. There’s no reason to overthink. It is just pizza.

He comes to the table and settles down beside Misumi, content to just be close to him, as Misumi opens the box up and holds up one of the slices. He smiles widely and wiggles it in front of Itaru’s face.

“Triangle slices!”

Itaru’s lips twitch up a bit, but instead of responding, he just reaches past Misumi to grab a slice of his own. Misumi, for his part, appears rather unruffled overall, perhaps not even thinking of how he might occupy his mouth once he is no longer eating, but this only really serves to worsen the stubborn knot in Itaru’s stomach. It’s not as if Misumi makes him nervous, of course, that would be absurd…but there is something here, a tension that has not left them since the last time they were able to spend this sort of time together. Itaru doesn’t even want to try to name it: that would breathe _life_ into the thing, make it _dangerous_.

The pizza does not last forever, though. Actually, it hardly lasts half an hour.

Itaru leans forward, knees still on the floor, to close and push the empty box back, then glances over his shoulder at Misumi. “Maybe we could—”

His words are cut off as Misumi gets a hold of his shirt and gently tugs him forward until their lips meet, and it is just like any other time they’ve kissed, really, except that it’s _not_ , but—

He doesn’t have the ability to push Misumi away, even if he really _did_ want to. Misumi’s lips are soft and kind as ever, and his hand falls away from where it is gripping Itaru’s shirt as Itaru shifts to make their position a little more comfortable. In an instant, Misumi’s arms are winding around his neck; his head tilts slightly, an invitation to deepen the kiss, which Itaru takes after a beat of hesitation. He can only hope it was not long enough for Misumi to notice, or, if it was, that he is simply too caught up in the act to care.

Which seems a little more probable, in all honesty. He is relaxed against Itaru, fingers carding through his hair in an almost absent manner. Nothing about this is _rushed_ or _passionate_ or _intense_. He pulls Misumi closer to him, lets his eyes fall pleasantly shut, but the kiss remains slow and soft and easy, until—

Misumi’s hands pull away and drop down to his hips, and then those same fingers are beneath his shirt, at his lower back, pushing him _close, close, they are so close_ …

Itaru’s lips part in soundless surprise; Misumi’s tongue brushes over them, and they are so close Itaru can even feel the sharp edges of his teeth, but that is nothing compared to how flush their bodies are. In order to maintain his balance, his hands find Misumi’s hips and hold them firmly. Misumi’s own are moving, though, up his back, sending little shockwaves down his spine. He can feel him _everywhere_ , searing through his bloodstream, lips and teeth and tongue and hands, and when he dares open his eyes again, he is met with fierce orange darkened by desire.

A shudder runs through him, and it is enough to make him tilt, for Misumi to push him down and back. Bracingly, he puts his elbows behind him and shift his legs just as Misumi moves above him. Not once does their kiss break, but there is something _more_ than passion here, Itaru thinks, and it is in the noise Misumi makes when Itaru’s leg pushes up against his crotch, the feeling of him _there_ —

With a great, gasping breath, he pulls away, bringing one hand up to hold Misumi back from him, but there is no point, really; Misumi falls back away, cheeks flushed, hooded gaze averted.

After a brief pause, Itaru repositions himself, but it does little to hide the tent in his pants _now_ , though of course Misumi is really no different, is he? And yet the knowledge is not reassuring in the slightest, fails to make the thing any _less_ humiliating for him.

“Sorry,” he finally offers, but Misumi shakes his head.

“Too soon,” he says, like it’s an agreement.

There is a long, awkward stretch of silence. Itaru tries to no avail to sit comfortably in such a way that Misumi’s attention will not be immediately drawn to his obvious erection.

And then Misumi lifts his head to meet Itaru's eyes. His lips quirk up slightly. “Itaru doesn’t need to feel embarrassed.”

Itaru can’t hold his gaze. “I’m not embarrassed.”

“A bit,” Misumi insists. “But that’s all right.”

He is on his feet, then, and stepping past Itaru in the direction of Itaru's gaming set-up. Normally, Itaru would follow him, but instead he simply sits there and waits until his face no longer feels so hot, until the ghosts of Misumi’s fingers fade off his back. And until the other problem dies down, of course, though that takes a little more time than the rest.

It is not about him, he thinks, except when he does finally rise and make to join Misumi, he knows he cannot say it is about Misumi. Last time this happened, it was over before either of them could grow visibly aroused, but this time…

Was it the fact that he, Itaru, was aroused, or was it the feeling of Misumi’s own hardness? He really doesn’t know. When he approaches Misumi and is offered out a game controller, however, he supposes it doesn’t matter too much, because Misumi isn’t going to make it weird either way.

He accepts it, though the compulsion to sit down and use the thing is hardly there at all right now. Instead there is…this. It’s the _momentous thing_ he has been dreading this entire time, and so—he will need to face it if he ever wants to slay it.

It sounds a lot cooler like that than what it _really_ is, which is his boyfriend watching him, waiting, expecting him to want to play a game so he can simply sit close and watch and perhaps point out all the triangles that show up on the screen, because of course he will do that; he always does.

He ventures, “Was that…all right?”

As soon as it slips out, he berates himself. What a foolish thing to say. _All right_. What does that even mean?

“Yep,” Misumi says simply. “I’ll wait for Itaru too.”

Itaru would like to contest it, would like to say he isn’t the one that needs to be waited for, but the evidence is rather damning. It’s not _supposed_ to be about him: he is older, he ought to be more experienced, ought to be more _open_ to these sorts of things, and yet…

It is Misumi offering him that gentle, understanding smile, the one that seems to say—it is all right, it will be all right, and they have all the time in the world.

Maybe that’s _not_ really fair. But his hold on the controller tightens just so and he sits in his familiar, comfortable chair, prepared to play a familiar, comfortable game, just as Misumi has invited him to do.

And so he leaves space for Misumi to settle on his lap, and he determinedly does not think about anything other than his warmth, his closeness, the fact that there is really nobody else he would be willing to distract him from games _this_ much. Misumi must not mind too terribly, because he leans his head against Itaru’s shoulder and one of his arms wraps loosely around his neck. He is quiet for a long moment, nothing to him but his measured breaths, the gentle beating of his heart, and then his voice is at Itaru’s ear:

“Next time.”

Itaru keeps his eyes ahead of him, even as his cheeks flood scarlet and his hoarse voice agrees, “Next time.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are always appreciated! xx
> 
> (p.s. catch me on twitter [@laphicets](https://twitter.com/laphicets) or tumblr [@kohakhearts](https://kohakhearts.tumblr.com) for writing updates. i also sometimes take writing requests on both!)


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